


Repeal and Replace

by Quantum_Witch



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1930s, Bad Jokes, Co-workers, Companionable Snark, Drinking & Talking, Families of Choice, First Meetings, Gen, Hanging Out, Historical References, Illustrated, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9202772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/pseuds/Quantum_Witch
Summary: When one of the Four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse decides to retire early, the other three find it difficult to accept, and are a little miffed at having their fortnightly brunch-drinks-and-trivia-games disrupted by the weird newcomer. (Illustrated)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittyroxdive1](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kittyroxdive1).



> Do not republish or distribute this story elsewhere without my permission.
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
> 
> My Good Omens Exchange gift for kittyroxdive1. Omg, you had such awesome prompts! Hope you like what I’ve made of it!

**DECEMBER 1936, SOMEWHERE IN EUROPE**

  
The Four sat around a table at the small inn they’d commandeered, after all the humans inside had fled. It wasn’t really a matter of needing privacy for the meeting. It was just that humans couldn’t cope for long in the presence of Apocalyptic personifications, particularly Death. Their brains would dance a terrified jig inside their skulls and the rest of their body reacted like a forest creature smelling a wildfire, sending them skittering madly away, either back to their beds where they would hopefully sleep it off like the bad dream they prayed it was, or wandering the streets muttering about monsters with skull faces, sharp teeth and gross oozing flesh, but surprisingly well-dressed.

Though the Four really didn’t care if humans overheard them, they still found it more pleasant when they could have a few hours just to themselves. Even personifications got tired of the crowds. And it was nice talking shop privately with others who actually knew the score.

Pestilence fidgeted in his chair, pallid fingertips fretting around the gin and tonic he’d been nursing all day. He was currently wearing a crisp white high-collared medical uniform. It was a little dull. Sometimes he missed the days of plague doctors’ long hooded cloaks and masks. Clothes may not ‘make the man’ (or woman) shaped being, but that was a fashion statement he could get behind. Practical and terrifying at once.

And with regards to fashion, Famine was as classy as ever in his usual black four-piece with polished leather shoes, and his hair as neatly slicked as his goatee. The dark-skinned personification tipped back his glass of brown beer. Naturally Sable’s fondness of wheat-based products carried to his choice of drink.

War wasn’t shabby looking either. As usual, Carmine was dressed more for action than fashion, but her fitted blouse, jodhpurs and boots still made her look like she’d spent the day fox hunting with royalty. Her long wavy flaming hair was swept to one side, her golden skin glowed and orange eyes sparkled with amusement. And of course her scarlet lipstick didn’t dare smear on the glass of moscato she’d been drinking.

Death was… the same as ever. And he didn’t drink.

They met like this every other Sunday, and had done so for centuries. Contrary to what a lot of people believed, they weren’t waiting until the End of the World and their already infamous Ride to hang out with one another. When there’s a limit to the number of similar entities on the planet, you either become friends or you spend a hell of a lot of time being bored.

They talked shop, of course, what co-workers don’t? But they mostly sat around drinking, after a leisurely brunch, and then played parlor games. Some human pursuits were enjoyable even for their kind. Today, they were playing at trivia.

War picked up another card from the pile and read the back.

“Okay, next question, Sable. The 1791-92 famine in India, following an extended El Niño event, was known at the time by what name?”

Famine smirked. “I remember that one very well. The Doji Bara famine.”

ALSO CALLED THE SKULL FAMINE, Death intoned. ONE OF MY FAVORITES.

Chucking, War turned to Pestilence. “Your turn, Frost.”

Pestilence frowned. “Yeah, pass. I’m not feeling it tonight.” When they all grew silent, he continued. “So, uh, how is business with you guys?”

That brought back the smiles. They really did love their jobs.

“Well, most of my time this year has been spent in Sichuan,” Famine said. “Again. Not much news there, it happens so regularly. And of course the second Dust Bowl in American. Honestly, humans never learn.”

“I’m totally swamped,” War counted on her fingers. “There’s the great purge in Russia, the Arab revolt in Palestine, violations of the Locarno and Versailles treaties, and a military coup in Spain. I can definitely smell the latter two starting to brew into something together. Boys, I think it could be huge, maybe even as big as the Great War.”

“Excellent,” Famine nodded, “I suppose I can expect quite a bit more business thrown my way soon.”

TONS, Death said, LITERAL TONS.

“Yay!” War giggled, clapping her hands. “So what about you, big D?”

Famine smiled at their leader. “Yes, anything exciting in your bailiwick?”

Death shrugged his shoulders, making the voluminous robes rustle in way that always sounded more like feathers than cloth. SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT DAY. BEEN THERE, DONE THAT, GOT THE T-SHIRT.

Everyone stared blankly for five seconds.

“Uh,” said Famine. “What?”

Death sighed. NEVER MIND. FUTURE STUFF. IT’S NOTHING IMPORTANT, BELIEVE ME.

“Ooh, future stuff!” War said gleefully. “Man, I wish we _all_ had that visionary thing you have. I mean, I do enjoy traveling the world, meeting new people, and getting them to kill each other in exciting ways. But I’d still love to know exactly where the next hot spot is going to arise, ahead of time.”

“Yeah,” Pestilence grumbled. He leaned forward, chin resting on one hand, the picture of annoyed resignation. “Sure would’ve been especially handy, for me. I wouldn’t have wasted all that time infiltrating hospitals and laboratories, trying to fit in with the humans, only to find out they’re about ten steps ahead of me.”

His three comrades went silent, looking askance at one another.

War finally spoke. “What do you mean?”

And Pestilence spoke the word he dreaded…

“ _Penicillin_.”

Things were silent a moment longer.

“Okay…,” said Famine slowly, “how is a little bit of mold such a big problem?”

“Are you kidding?” Pestilence sighed heavily, sitting back, and running a hand over his white hair. “Unlike maybe ninety percent of the cures they’ve tried for millennia – herbs and potions, bloodletting, leeches, prayers – this stuff is actually working! In a few years, it’s gonna be literally everywhere. Guys, it looks like… my days are numbered.”

Famine huffed in disdain. “Come now. Even if humans make this cure widely available, it doesn't mean anything. We're immortal personifications. As long as there's humanity, we'll be here too.”

“Exactly!” War declared, trying to bolster his spirits. “Humans will always create havoc for themselves, and that always leads to… well, Us.”

TRUE. HUMANS REALLY CAN’T HELP THEMSELVES, Death said.

“Yeah,” Pestilence said, “and apparently they also can’t help searching for ways to survive. Now they will successfully be thwarting me. It’s a losing battle for the time being, so, uh… I’m retiring.”

“ _WHAT??_ ”

Famine and War had shouted as one. Death looked as though he’d managed to frown somehow, which with his permanent grin was quite a feat.

“But we’re a matching set of _Four_! It’s always been this way!” protested Famine.

“And you know that the final Ride can’t happen with only _Three_ Horsepersons!” cried War.

YOU CAN'T GO AGAINST TRADITION, Death said firmly. LITERALLY CAN'T, IN THIS CASE.

“Well you’re in luck,” Pestilence said, “because there’s already another personification fairly well-suited to be my replacement. He’s actually a bit of a visionary himself.”

“Hello, everyone!” said a soft voice from the corner.

Seemingly from nowhere, another figure had appeared in the room. He was nearly a spitting image for Pestilence but for the semblance of his age, which was roughly fifteen or sixteen. He was shorter than them all, and slightly built with pale skin, rather long white hair, and light grey eyes. His boyish clothes were also white and pristine, even though a pile of trash tumbled around his feet. When he noticed they were staring, he gave a gentle half-smile and waved a slender hand in greeting.

War, Famine and Death stared at the newcomer for several tense seconds.

Then cautiously, War said, “He looks kind of young.”

“And like he… might not be able to understand how we do business,” Famine said dismissively.

AND A BIT FAMILIAR, said Death.

**  
**

“This is Pollution,” Pestilence said, motioning the boy forward. “Yeah, yeah, I know he looks like he’s spent way too much time breathing fumes – which he kind of has – but he’s also been making quite a name for himself. Or rather, he will, in a few more decades.”

“It’s so wonderful to meet you all!” Pollution went on smiling. “And it’s so exciting that I can be present for such breathtaking events.”

Famine asked blandly, “What events?”

“The start of the Industrial Revolution. And the End of the World, of course,” Pollution said.

“Uh, didn’t the industrial thing happen centuries ago?” a puzzled War asked.

“I guess you could say that’s his birthday. Sort of,” Pestilence sighed. “Chalky’s been around a while, he just avoids the limelight. But according to him, things are about to get ‘ _cray-cray_ ’, don’t ask what that means. Actually, he’s the one who saw my downfall. Mass production of drugs, can you believe it? Literally factory made cures for the most commonplace diseases. In a few years, it’ll be worldwide and nearly unstoppable.”

Famine gave the boy a suspicious frown. “And how do you know he’s telling the truth about ‘seeing’ these events? Perhaps he’s just after your position in our ranks. It’s rather prestigious, after all.”

“Seriously, it’s a little convenient,” War nodded in agreement.

NO. HE’S RIGHT, Death said. IT’S COMING, JUST LIKE HE SAID.

“Damn,” War grunted sympathetically at Pestilence. “That’s rough.”

Famine was still frowning, but it had turned into confusion. “Surely this can’t be the end of all human illness. You’re not going to _disappear_ , Frost.”

“No, never completely, I guess,” Pestilence said, shrugging. “They’ll still get sick from things penicillin can’t cure. But why should I show up just for a few hundred cases of the sniffles? No, I need some ‘me’ time to think about it all, so I’m taking a break. Maybe call me up when there’s some massive viral epidemic being called ‘God’s Punishment’, or something. Then I’ll drop by.”

SEE YOU IN ABOUT FOUR AND A HALF DECADES, Death mumbled. When they all turned to look at him, he said, NOTHING. FUTURE STUFF. FORGET IT.

They all shrugged and turned back to Pollution with more interest now.

“So, kid,” said War with a grin, “ _you’re_ behind the Industrial Revolution, which made the humans’ defense industry possible. Should I be thanking you for the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction?”

“Should I be thanking you for the proliferation of Twinkies?” Famine asked cheekily.

Smiling shyly, Pollution said, “Well, I guess I have some indirect credit for those things. But really, I’m more of a muse, or even an artist. I helped humans in creating the petrol engine, and plastics, and we’re nearly ready with the ring pulls on cans. It’s going to be… _marvelous_ ….” His smile widened, his eyes unfocused, and his entire face took on an expression of peace.

Pestilence thumbed toward the boy. “This is what I’m talking about. He can see it.”

“Yes,” Pollution continued dreamily. “I’ll help them create even more stuff to make their lives easier…”

Famine said skeptically, “That sounds rather counter-intuitive to our cause, lad.”

“Patience, Sable,” Pestilence said, “hear him out.”

A dazed Pollution went on. “In time, humans will become addicted to the convenience of these inventions. They'll grow greedy and lazy, and desire more things to fill their lives with distractions. Some things will be recycled to make more things, but a whole lot of things will be one-use-only. It'll break or wear out, and be discarded. And then... _Oooh_!” His thin body shuddered in delight and he closed his eyes. “Toxic waste… oil slicks… deadly chemicals… holes in the ozone layer... a glorious floating island of garbage in the ocean that's the size of a small country. Eventually the polar ice caps will melt, and the world will heat up until it's absolutely impossible for _any_ living thing  to survive. Some governments will fight against anyone who tries to prove it with science. Yes, they literally _won't believe or care_ that they're destroying the planet and dooming their futures. I give the world another century before it's too late to fix anything.” He opened his eyes again, swaying slightly on his feet. “Ah, it will be _so damned beautiful_! I can see it already.”

Death nodded. I SEE IT, TOO. HUMANS REALLY, REALLY CANNOT HELP THEMSELVES.

“Too true,” Pestilence said. “So even though they might've figured out how to cure a lot of diseases–”

“They'll never stop their own destructive urges,” War eagerly joined in.

“Or stop craving the easiest way out,” Famine laughed.

Pestilence smiled at last. “So, you see guys, it’s gonna be fine. Even if the gang has a new member, nothing much will change. I won’t be as active, but it’s not that bad since humanity is still headed toward the End. I’ll be around if you really need me.”

“And I’m so glad to be part of the group,” Pollution gushed happily, “I really want to help make it all go so horribly wrong. To see it all swirling down the drain in a blackened morass of slime and grief and agony...” His eyes sparkled with childlike joy.

War grinned at him, and said, “Awww! Ya know, he is kinda cute after all.”

Famine chuckled, “Well, I suppose he could grow on me.”

LIKE MOLD ON BREAD, Death said dryly.

Pestilence groaned and smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh man, did you _really_ have to bring that up?”

“Ooooh,” War breathed, hand to her heart.

Famine tsked in disapproval. “ _Not_ cool.”

Death sighed and bowed his head sheepishly. SORRY. I COULDN’T RESIST.

War frowned at Death, then cleared her throat and turned to Pestilence. “So, where will you go now?

“Don’t know yet.” Pestilence stood up. “Maybe I’ll go find a beach with palm trees and warm sand.”

“And mosquitoes,” Pollution giggled.

Pestilence laughed, clapping a hand on his replacement’s shoulder. “Yep, love those little blood-sucking fiends from hell. As long as humans can’t eradicate those, I’ll always have some soldiers in the field, so to speak.” He nodded toward his oldest comrades. “And even though these guys are a little tacky sometimes, they’re okay. So have fun for me, junior. Break things and raise hell.”

With an expression of innocence that looked terribly wrong on his boyish face, Pollution said, “I’ll make everyone proud, uncle!”

  


_~ End (of the world)._

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I came up with "Frost" as Pestilence's unofficial name, because it seemed sad for him to be the only one not to have a color-based name. :)  
>    
> Art notes: The background of the second picture is an overlay of several images: A map of the world showing climate change temps; a landfill with seagulls; and two symbols – biohazard & radioactive material.


End file.
